Crescendo
by bostongrl1661
Summary: Evie has always hated Washington--she hated the rain, the cold, and the fact that her mother lives there. But now, she's being forced to live there, much to her delight. Can one boy make her time there so much better? Paul/OC
1. Chapter One

**Along with my LOTR story, I've decided to start a Twilight story. I'm not absolutely obsessed like some girls are, but I do love some of the characters, and absolutely fell in love with the world that Stephenie Meyer created, and I decided to add onto it. So, just so everyone knows, everything that appears in the books is all owned by Stephenie Meyer. So, yeah, just about nothing is mine. Here we go. **

Rain. Nothing but rain is all I could see, as my mother drove through the thick, slicing rain that was crushing all of Washington. I leaned my forehead against the cool window, all the while feeling my mother's curious eyes glancing at me. She hadn't said a word since she had picked me up from the airport--it was probably because our last meeting hadn't exactly gone very smoothly. We had a lot of bad blood between us, a lot of which I do not to remember. I could still hear the screaming and frustration in my mind; I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath to try to shove the lump that had formed in my throat back down.

"Where are we?" I asked her, not even bothering to close my eyes. I was wishing that I was still in Cedar, Maine, where I could soak in the sweet, gentle rays of the sun, sitting with my best friend and listening to trashy music that was being blasted on the radio at the local pool. If only I could be there--I was stuck in La Push, Washington now, where my mother lived, as she was a volunteer for the Indian reservation. Basically, she helped the people who were misfortunate enough to need her help--she was just so generous. I rolled my eyes at the thought.

My mother glanced at me, before slowly responding, "We're almost there--it'll probably be another five minutes before we get to the house." She continued to stare at the road, clutching the steering wheel tightly--she always had hated driving in the rain, I remembered. She hesitated before adding, "Tomorrow night, I'm having a few of people over--a woman from my work, and her son. He's about your age." She trailed off, staring at the road and falling back into her thoughts.

I frowned, and shrugged my shoulders, slouching in the passenger seat even more. How could this be happening? Why was I stuck here, with my mother in a rainy, miserable place that I had no desire to be in? Why did my father do this to me--there has to be more of a reason that simply the fact that I supposedly needed a mother to raise me? Couldn't he have just married one of the bimbos he dated for a couple of weeks--they were all stupid, of course, but they could have at least made me laugh. That's more than my mother could ever do. "Whatever," I mumbled, and the rest of the car ride was silent.

When we pulled into the garage, I stepped out of the car and grabbed my duffel bag from the backseat. Mom led me into a quaint-looking kitchen, and brought me to my room. It was a single-story house, with two bedrooms, and I was to stay in the guest bedroom. It was considerably smaller than my own room back home, but I didn't really need too much space. It wasn't like I was going to live there for a very long time--just a couple of months, until my father figured that I was safe enough to return home. Whenever that would be.

I laid down on the thick, scratchy bedspread, feeling tears beginning to streak down my cheeks. At that moment, I was alone--I knew no one in Washington, besides my mother, and I couldn't exactly find that a consolation. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because, it seemed as soon as my eyelids started to droop, my mother was shaking my shoulder, telling me to hurry up and get ready for my first day of school. I groaned and staggered into the bathroom, readying myself for what was probably going to be a terrible day. My dad had practically pulled my arm around my back in order to get me to leave my school--he had gotten sick of the issues that had gone on with me and him, and, basically, shipped me off to Washington to get me out of his hair (although I think he just wanted to be able to bring his slutty girlfriends home without there being a teenager there.

I shut my door and went into the kitchen, where my mother was sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. She looked up and raised her eyebrows at me. I frowned at her and looked down; all I was wearing was a pair of jeans and plain t-shirt--nothing out of the ordinary. Shaking my head, I asked her quietly, "How am I getting to school? You don't expect me to take a bus, do you?"

She smiled tightly at me, before taking a long gulp of coffee. She swirled the contents, before saying, her eyes never leaving her mug, "Take my car today. I'll call your father at work and talk to him about getting you a car so you can drive yourself around. Is that alright with you?" She finally looked up at me, her eyes watching me intently.

I stared at her, completely shocked by her suggestion. This was the last thing that I expected to come out of her mouth--I had thought she would tell me to walk to school, or at least take the bus. Never before had anyone offered to get me a car--my father was too busy with work and his women to care about me actually getting a car. I had my license and all, of course, but had never been able to actually use it. I bit my bottom lip and glanced down at my shoes. "Thanks, Mom," I said softly, and an awkward silence followed. I closed my eyes for a brief second, realizing that it would never be comfortable between us ever again, and then came back to Earth. "Alright, I better go." I grabbed her keys and my bag--an over-used messenger bag that I'd had for years--and practically stumbled out the door.

Hopping into the car, I started it and immediately turned on the heat, blowing on my hands as I waited for the car to heat up. I checked my reflection in the mirror, and sighed softly. I just knew it was not going to be a good day--the first day of school never was. As soon as the car was bearable, I pulled out of the driveway and started out for the school. I remembered passing by the school when my mom had drove me to her house, so it was easy enough to find.

There was a good amount of cars parked in, most of them old and beat-up, as most teenagers cars were. I pulled into the first open spot I found, and took in a deep breath after I turned off the engine of the car. I checked my reflection once more, and pulled the brim of my Red Sox cap down anxiously; I was ready. Pushing open my door, I stepped out of my car and grabbed my bag from my backseat. I watched my feet take each step as I walked up to the school, my schedule clutched in my hands.

I first had to stop into the office, where a round-faced, curly-haired lady gave me a map of the school and an encouraging smile. I gave her a tentative one in return, and turned from her desk and nearly ran into someone that was very sturdy and hard. Nearly stumbling onto my backside, I balanced myself and stared up at a monstrous-looking teenager--the sad thing was that he had to be my age, and he was probably six feet seven and a complete mass of muscle. His deep, dark eyes had a innocence that did not seem to match the rest of him, and made him seem far younger than he actually was. Mumbling an apology to him, I quickly went around him and left, but not before hearing the lady saying, "You should watch where you're going, Jacob."

Almost everyone was in my first class--English--when I walked into there, and they all looked at me curiously. Brushing my fingertips against my hat--trying to find some kind of confidence in myself--I kept my head down and took an empty seat in the back of the room, ignoring the whispers that seemed to follow me. I definitely did not look like everyone else in the room--my unruly auburn hair stood out from all of the brunettes, and I was one of the few people with green eyes in the room. I pulled out my notebook and doodled on the cover, digging my pen so deep into it that I was surely going to break through the plastic. Just as the bell rang, I heard two people practically sprint into the room, and, unable to control myself, I looked up curiously. That was when I saw him.

He was standing next to the giant that I had seen in the main office, and he was somewhat shorter, although not by much. He still was about six feet four, which was not exactly common for boys of about seventeen years old. Black, thick hair fell into his eyes, which were surprisingly a clear shade of blue; it was true that people with dark hair and light eyes always seemed to be the best-looking. I felt my insides squirm when his eyes met mine, and I forced myself to look down at my notebook. That was when I remembered there was only one other empty seat after his friend took his seat next to another tall boy, and that was the one that was right next to me.

Oh no.

**So, yeah, that's where I leave you guys. I know, it's a bit of a cliff-hanger, but I just had too. Hope you all like to so far, and I'll try to get another chapter up as soon as possible. Don't forget to review! **


	2. Chapter Two

**Alright, so, I'm a dork, and I'm so excited for this story that I'm getting right onto this next chapter. For those who are curious about my LOTR story (or who are becoming impatient for my next chapter) I'm going to be posting the next chapter for that story after this, and it's going to be like that pattern. Believe me, I'm definitely not going to lose focus from that story. So, yes, onto this chapter. **

I didn't look up when the boy sat beside me, nor when I could easily feel his sharp eyes on my face. My baseball cap was pulled down so that it covered my eyes and my nose, thank God, so I was sure he could not see the rest of my face. My grip on my pen tightened as I realized his presence more and more, and chills were running up and down my spine as each moment passed. I was close to glancing at him when a voice from the front of the room caused me to force my eyes in its direction.

"Excuse me, you, in the back with the hat!" came a cool, stern voice, and, as I looked up, I realized it was the teacher's voice. Mr. Anderson, I realized, as I glanced down at my schedule, was an older teacher, probably in his mid-50s. His graying hair was thinning as well, and that must have been a reason for his bad mood. He glared at me, and continued, "I'm afraid hats are not allowed in this classroom, so I suggest you take it off."

I felt my cheeks burn in embarrassment, and, never looking up from my notebook, pulled the cap off and threw it on my bag. I took my hair out of its ponytail, and ran my fingers through it; it could at least be used as a curtain to keep me from looking at the boy sitting next to me. I didn't look up again, hoping that Mr. Anderson would ignore me once more. Fortunately for me, he did.

He went through the attendance sheet slowly, and stopped when he came to my name. Looking up at me, a sarcastic smirk came on his face as he said in a deliberately slow voice, "Evelyn Wilkes." I winced at the use of my full name--I always thought it sounded like an old lady's name; without looking up, I raised my hand, unsure of how to respond. I hadn't exactly been listening to my classmates; I was too busy thinking about the silent boy sitting next to me. "So you are the new student. Tell me, Miss Wilkes, do you go by Evelyn or another name?"

I winced at the sound once more, and forced my green eyes to stare right back up at him. I was getting fed up with this stupid game he was playing. "It's Evie," I said to him coldly, my eyes glaring into his. "Thanks for asking." I couldn't stop the sarcastic tone inching into my voice, and I heard a couple of people snickering in the classroom--including the boy that was sitting next to me. Mr. Anderson, however, was not so amused. A frown was upon his face, but he did not say anything, just went to his attendance.

As soon as he was finished, he told us to work with the people sitting next to us about last night's reading. I stared up at him with a blank look on my face until he finally remembered that I needed a book, not to mention to know what we were reading. I was relieved when he gave me a book called Wuthering Heights, which just happened to be my favorite book all time. I had read it several times, and would know just about everything about it. And then, I remembered I had to work with the boy next to me. Oh boy.

Glancing over at him, I found that his eyes were filled with an amused light, obviously because of the nervous expression on my face. I was shifting uncomfortably in my chair, and waited for him to say something. He didn't.

Sighing, I said, "How far are you guys in the book?" That seemed like a simple enough question, even though it left me feeling awkward inside.

"I don't know," said the boy, making me look up into his eyes with an disbelief in my eyes. "I haven't read any of it." I frowned at him, and shook my head. Oh, yes, I knew just who he was. He was one of those stupid boys who were more obsessed with sports or video games or whatever he was into, instead of his studies. And, if we were partners--which we probably were going to be, I thought, as I looked around the room--I was going to be doing all the work, if I wanted a good grade. Great.

"Well, some help you are," I said, rolling my eyes in annoyance and turning away from him. He seemed shocked that I acted that way towards him--what, was I supposed to worship him like all the girls probably did. Even at that moment, I saw several girl's eyes sneaking towards his eyes, even though he was showing no interest in them. He seemed to be in more disbelief that I snubbed him. "You could at least go on Spark Notes and look it up. But, I guess that would make you get off your ass and do something, right?" I watched him with a cold look in my eyes.

Okay, so maybe I was a little harsh on him--it wasn't his fault I was having a lot of issues in my life. But, really, is it too much to ask for a little effort to do his work? The way he said he hadn't read--with so much arrogance--made me sick to my stomach, and I had always hated boys like that. He apparently thought that I was way too harsh on him--however, before he could say anything, Mr. Anderson's voice cut him off, and we were both forced to look up at him. For the rest of the class period, we simply discussed the book, with the boy sitting next to me seemingly getting angrier and angrier, and me continuing to doodle on my notebook.

When the bell rang, I tried to slip past him, but he grabbed my arm, stopping me. I turned at full force--this kid was way too strong--and accidentally bumped into his chest. His grip was firm, but not tight enough to hurt me--his hands were very hot, making me stare up at him in concern for just a second. Did he have a fever or something? "Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but you have no right--"

I cut him off. "Forget it, alright? I'm sorry I snapped at you, whoever you are. It was an accident--you don't have to make a damn scene about the whole thing. Just, forget it, okay?" I gazed up into his endless blue eyes, and waited until he finally released my arm. I could feel his hand still on my arm as I began to walk away from him. I couldn't believe that I had just apologized to him--I've never been one for admitting I was wrong, and I had done it just like that? I should have gone checked myself out, just to make sure I wasn't sick.

I was halfway across the room when he called out, "I'm Paul, by the way." I turned to him, gave him a small smile, and turned away. That had to be the weirdest conversation I'd ever had.

* * *

"So, I see you've caught the attention of Paul Wesley."

It was lunch, five periods after my first period, and I was sitting by myself outside; the picnic table that I had chosen was distanced from the rest of the other kids at my school, which was exactly why I chose it. One of my earbuds was in, while my other ear was free so I could hear the people talking near me. It was, for the first time since I'd been in Washington, sunny and warm, and I was simply basking in all of the sunlight—I was sure that I would not be able to see the sun for a long time.

My previous five classes had been alright—I'd had Chemistry, Pre-Calculus, Gym, Economics, and then an art class after English, and none of them were all that eventful. I'd kept my head down the whole entire time, avoiding any sort of contact. I was sure I would have heard it from my mother if she found out about my anti-social attitude that day—she always was embarassed by the fact that I liked being by myself most of the time. No one had tried to talk to me, until lunch.

The girl was of average height, and had a mass of curly, black hair surrounding her face. She was pretty, with shining dark eyes and high cheekbones—I could tell that she was well-liked by many of the males, as several of the boys surrounding my table were checking her out. I internally rolled my eyes at them, and turned to the girl. "Who?" I asked her blankly, pulling my other earbud out and sitting up from the bench.

"Paul Wesley," said the girl, her voice filling with annoyance. As if I should know who that was. It was then that I remembered the boy that had sat next to me in English. Oh, I thought, I guess that's whose she's talking about. Just as I was about to say something to her, she cut me off. "He's really hot—dark hair, blue eyes, really big. He's sitting right over there." She pointed at a table near mine—there he was, sitting with a bunch of other guys, laughing about something stupid. As soon as I looked over there, he turned his eyes on me, and I frowned at him before turning back to the girl.

"He sat next to me in English—so what? Hasn't a boy sat next to you before?" I asked her coolly, before turning my eyes to my iPod. Yeah, I thought, I'm sure she's done far more with a boy. I could see it easily now—she was giving me a superior look, as if wanting to inform me that Paul was off-limits. As if I really cared either way. "Why do you care anyways?"

The girl scoffed irritably, and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's because I'm trying to go out with him, and I want to make it clear to you that he's off the market. So don't try going after him, because he's mine," she finished, pointing at herself. She had a slight crazed look in her eyes, and I raised my eyebrows at her. Lowering her voice, she said quietly, "I've heard the rumors about you—the reason you came here is because you slept around too much, and your daddy got sick of it."

I couldn't help it—I laughed straight in her face, and stood up. I was a few inches shorter than her, but I didn't care. There was no way that I was going to let this little bitch talk to me like this, as if she knew everything about me. "I suggest you get your facts—and your head—straight; and, by the way, I'm not going anywhere near your little boyfriend. He's all yours."

I was simply going to walk off, since I was sure the bell would ring soon, when she had call out to me, "Bitch!" I froze. I was just standing in front of the door to the cafeteria, and I was staring at the glass, watching her reflection—she had a smug look on her face, like she had just won a contest. I chuckled lowly, and turned back to her. I took several measured steps to her, and was this close to slamming my fist into her pretty face when a hand came up from behind me and caught my wrist.

I turned and stared up into a familiar blue eyes, which was looking down at me without any expression. "Come with me," he said quietly, and his grip on my wrist was just as firm as it was when he had grabbed my arm. He pulled me through the cafeteria, as I was struggling to keep up with his long strides, my bag banging onto my leg painfully. Just as we were outside of the cafeteria and inside the empty hallway, Paul let go of my wrist. "You shouldn't try to pick a fight with Scarlett—she has a lot of connections in this school, and you would be in a lot of deep shit if something happened to her," he told me, leaning against the locker and watching me quizzically.

I frowned up at him, sitting down on the floor on the other side of the hallway. "I wasn't doing anything to her—she's the one who was stupid enough to call me a bitch," I snapped at him, as I fiddled with the cord to my earbuds. The look in his eyes made me feel uncomfortable, and I wasn't sure if it was a pleasant feeling or not. "You didn't have to stop me—I could handle it if she ran off and told on me. I'm a big girl," I added, finally looking up at him. I cursed myself as soon as I did—his eyes—not to mention everything about him—were just too much to handle.

"I'm sure you could easily handle her," said Paul, laughing quietly. I frowned at his tone—it was if he was talking to a small child. However, before I could tell him to wipe that smirk off his face, he asked, "Why did you want to hit her, anyway? You don't seem like the type of girl who would easily get in a fight."

I glared at him, knowing that he was taking some kind of shot at my height—which was far from impressive—and said coolly, "She called me a bitch, and told me that I had to stay away from you." I smiled to myself, and told him, "You better watch out. I guess you are the guy she wants to date. Good luck with that." I couldn't stop the grin that came to my face, especially after he groaned in annoyane. "What, you don't want to have a psycho for a girlfriend? I think you two would make quite a couple."

The look on his face made the grin slowly fade from my face—it was smoldering, intense look that I had never seen before, not even in those trashy romance movies that my best friend always tried to make me watch. It caused goosebumps to break out on my arms, and I shivered against my will. "I'm afraid I have another girl I'm interested in," he said softly, and I crossed my arms across my chest, hoping to feel more comfortable. It didn't work.

Before I could respond to him—or even think of a response to what he had just said—the bell rang, and he helped me up, the intense look wiped clean from his face. He smiled gently down at me, and I returned it. "I'll see you later," he said quietly, and he was gone, just like that. That boy was going to get me in trouble, I thought to myself, and shook my head, before heading to my last class.

At least the day was interesting.

**And there we go—the next chapter will be up in a couple of days, I promise. Don't forget to review! Oh, and, thanks to all those who made reviews. Here's my responses to all of them:**

_Gryffindor Gurl2: Thanks! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_Foofer: Hehe, I love all of the Paul/OC stories too. He's probably my second favorite character in Twilight, besides Jacob, of course. I'll work on making them much longer. Believe me, I always hate seeing short chapters, they're really annoying. _

_DestinyIntertwined: I'm glad you loved it! I hope this update was soon enough for you! xD_

_Europ92: Haha, those are some sweet skills. xD Thanks for the compliments, and I couldn't agree with you more—there are some seriously badly-written stories out there. And, I guess I chose blue eyes because I wanted to make Paul a bit more unique compared to the rest of the guys on the Reservation—and I happen to have a fascination with guys with dark hair and light eyes. Hehe._


	3. Chapter Three

**So, I'm working on this chapter, because, basically, I have no life and I'm determined to get this next chapter up soon. I don't want to leave you guys hanging just too much. And, also, I have too much muse to handle. I won't talk too much—I'll just get straight to the story. **

The rest of the school day went by fairly quickly—I was loaded with homework, of course, but none of that really mattered to me at that point. My mind was already on one boy, one who seemed to be haunting my thoughts as each second ticked by since I had last seen him. He was just infuriating and fascinating and interesting and every other –ing I could think of. How was it that I could meet one boy and, all of a sudden, my life seemed to have so much more of a purpose, and being in Washington wasn't so terrible after all? How was that possible? To make it short, Paul was making me completely insane.

After I pulled into the garage of my house—which was empty, since my mother was still at the hospital—I grabbed my bag and went straight to my room. I had a radio on the dresser and, after fiddling with the antenna for five minutes, managed to find a decent station and pulled it into the bathroom across from my bedroom. After stripping off all of my clothes, I hopped into the shower, allowing the practically scalding-hot water pour over my body, erasing all of my troubles. I took about half an hour to take a shower, when I turned the water off and stepped out, wrapping myself in a warm, fluffy towel. I had combed my hair and just began to blow-dry it when I heard something coming from the kitchen.

Narrowing my eyes, I slowly opened the bathroom door and listened, hearing the sound once more. I saw a wooden baseball bat lying on the floor—obviously for protection—and grabbed it, readying myself as I crept all the to the corner of the hallway, where the person was standing on the other side of the wall. Taking in a deep breath, I jumped out from my hiding spot and slammed the baseball bat on the person—the only problem was that the bat grabbed before it could even hit the person, and, before I could even see whoever it was, they pulled the bat, forcing me into them. That was when I looked up into those same blue eyes that I had been daydreaming about all afternoon.

"Paul?!" I exclaimed, angrily wrenching myself out of his grip. I couldn't even figure out any sort of reason why he would be in my house—let alone how he would know where I lived. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in? What-what-why—"

"Didn't your mom tell you that people were coming over?" asked Paul, raising his eyebrows at my attire. That was when I remembered that I was wearing nothing but a towel; I thanked God that I had gotten one that was large enough to cover all of the parts that I didn't want any body seeing. "And, what the hell were you doing with a bat?"

"I thought you were a burglar or something," I said defiantly, staring up at him with a frown on my face. I tightened the grip I had on my towel and shook my head. "Listen, I'm going to go change—just stay out here and don't touch anything. Okay?" Shaking my head, I left him without even getting a reply. As soon as I was in my bedroom, I hastily threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve green shirt—I didn't' even bother messing around with my hair, and just ran a brush through it and pulled it in a pony-tail. Walking into the living room, I glared at Paul, who had just made himself right at home, since he had a soda in on hand and the TV on something on ESPN. "Thanks for listening to me," I mumbled, sitting down on the sofa next to him and pulled my knees up to my chest. "What are you watching?"

"The Mariners game—they're about to play the Sox," he replied, glancing over at me for a second and then taking a second glance. "You're a Red Sox fan, right? That's too bad—they're about to get their asses kicked."

I glared at him, and snapped, "Yeah, right, since the Mariners are such a great team. When was the last time they won the World Series? Oh, wait, they never have. That's right." I rolled my eyes—I was the worst person to talk to about sports, especially baseball. It was the one thing my father was proud of me about—my love for the sport.

"That's what happens when you don't take steroids," said Paul shortly, and I looked back at him in shock. However, before I could make another remark, I heard the garage door open.

We both looked at each other for several seconds before I bolted up and tried to grab the remote. However, Paul was determined to keep it away from me. "Come on, Paul, just give the damn thing! I need to change it!" I tried to plead with him, but he was too stubborn. He apparently wanted to know why.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he mumbled, as I literally crawled onto him to try to grab it. Suddenly, I was straddling his hips, and trying to grab the remote. Just as it was within my reach, I looked down and stop trying; his eyes were gazing up into mine, and I found my hands were holding his shoulders tightly. His face was inches from mine, and I could have easily leaned down and pressed my lips to his. And, before I knew what was I was doing, I was starting to move my lips to his, until I heard my mother's sharp voice.

"Evelyn, what are you doing?" she asked loudly, and I, startled from the moment, accidentally fell from being on top of him, and hit the carpeted floor. Hard. Paul quickly sat up and helped me up, and I grabbed the back of my head, which was now throbbing. "Well, I see that you've met Paul," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and handing me some Tylenol. Swallowing it dry, I glared up at her with watery eyes. "Evelyn, this is Abby, Paul's mother," said my mother as a tall, beautiful woman with deep blue eyes, rust-colored skin, and long, thick, jet black hair.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Wesley," I said to her, standing up and shaking her hand. I was relieved when I realized she hadn't seen me on top of her son, and even more when my mom didn't mention it again.

"It's very nice to meet you, dear," said Ms. Wesley, smiling warmly down at me. I could easily see Paul in her face, and I could see from the looks in their eyes that they were very close. I was almost jealous of their relationship—I didn't exactly have decent relationships with my father or my mother. It was all uncomfortable and awkward between all three of us, and there was nothing pleasant about it.

When Mom said dinner, I guess she meant she was going to pick up pizza, since that's what we had. I guess she wasn't much a cook, which meant that, from now on, that designated me a cook. Everyone in my small family knew that I actually loved cooking, and I was one hell of a chef. That's what I always did for my summer job—a sous-chef at the local restaurant in Cedar. I was silent, as my mom, Ms. Wesley, and Paul filled up the room with cheery conversation. I didn't even a slice of pizza; I was too busy thinking about how I had almost kissed Paul. Apparently, it wasn't that much of a deal to him, since he was eating almost two pizzas by himself—and he was still saying he was hungry. Soon, Ms. Wesley and Mom were talking about how Paul and I should take a walk together, so the two women could do something together—I wasn't exactly listening. Before I knew it, I was being shoved out of the house with Paul, and we were forced to walk around the block.

"Listen, Paul, about what happened—"

Before I could say anything, though, he placed a hand over my mouth, and stared down at me with another one of his deep, knee-trembling looks. I placed my hand over his, and nodded my head, understanding what he wanted—to not bring it up again. I pulled his hand from my mouth, and held it in mine. "So, your mom seems nice," I said quietly, walking with him and my hand held in his. This person that I was acting like was so strange—I was so relaxed around him, and I didn't mind being affectionate. How did he always seem to bring the best out of me?

Paul laughed softly, and said, "Yeah, she's great. I take it you don't think your mom is as nice?"

I looked up at him, shocked that he could read me so well. Once again, this boy amazed me. I shrugged lightly and said, "She's alright, I guess. We aren't very close. She walked out on my dad and me when I was two, and she just came back in my life a couple of years ago; supposedly she had this change of heart while she was here. So, yeah, it's kind of awkward." When I finished, I couldn't believe how easy it had been to talk to him. What was he doing to me?

"Wow," said Paul quietly, his eyes never leaving me, even though I hadn't even looked up at him. My eyes were on my shoes now, embarrassed that I had spilled so much information to him. "That must be rough. Do you at least get along with your dad?"

I laughed darkly and replied, "Nope, not a single chance. My dad is too busy worrying about his work and the idiot girls he brings home. I guess, after my mom left, he started believing that I could have anyone as a mom. It hasn't really gone all that well—the longest relationship he had with someone was a month, and she left because I got in a fight with her. That's why he shipped me off here—he got sick of my attitude, apparently." I couldn't stop the bitter tone from creeping into my voice, and I sighed. "What about you? Where's your dad?"

Paul stopped suddenly, and I automatically knew that I had crossed a line. I was about to apologize and tell him that he didn't need to tell me when he said, "He died a few years ago. He was just driving home one day when some drunk driver hit him. The driver ended up living, but my father died. Really fair, eh?" He laughed bitterly, and I reached a hand up and caressed his cheek.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, and, without even thinking, wrapped my arms around his neck. Paul hesitated, before encircling his arms around my waist. We held each for a few minutes, before I slowly pulled away from him. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?" I asked him, laughing gently, and I was relieved when he chuckled. His eyes caught mine, and I felt him beginning to lean down when, suddenly, he stopped.

Paul straightened, his arms still around me, and stared off into the distance; he seemed to hear something that I hadn't. I called his name, and he looked down, seeming to remember that I was still with him. "I have to go, Evie," he said reluctantly, and I knew it—he didn't want to be interested in me in that way. He was probably holding out for Scarlett or some other girl. I nodded, my eyes falling to the ground, and I began to walk back to my house and I heard him hesitate, before running off into the forest. It was when I approached my house, said good night to my mother, who told me that Ms. Wesley had left unexpectedly, and crawled into bed that I let the tears fall.

I was so stupid to believe that someone like that could be attracted to someone like me.

**And, there we go! Hope you all liked it, and keep reviewing! **


	4. Chapter Four

**So, I have to say, I'm absolutely thrilled that you all are enjoying the story. I'm really having a good time writing it up, and it makes it seem even better that you all are really liking it. So, yes, on with the story—**

I awoke to the sound of my alarm chirping annoyingly, forcing my eyes open and making me realize that I was not in Cedar, but in La Push, where it seemed that my life was beginning to shut down. It took me only a few seconds to remember what had happened the night before, and I groaned at the thought—I had only made a fool of myself in front of Paul, and now I had to sit next to him in my first period. I groaned again—this would be another long day.

After several seconds of debating whether or not I should just skip school today, I got up sluggishly and took a slow, hot shower, hoping to wipe away some of the humiliation from the night before. It didn't work. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt that I randomly grabbed out of my drawer, and shoved my feet into a pair of dark boots that I had bought a couple of weeks ago. After checking my auburn hair in the mirror—which was pulled up in a lazy ponytail—I walked past my empty kitchen and into the garage. My mom's car was the only one there, so I simply shrugged, got into, and started for school.

After I had pulled into the first parking spot that I found and slumped into school, I was thinking of whether or not just to forget it all, and run off and stay at the beach—even thought the weather was rainy, cloudy, and miserable. I was seriously considering it when I was going through my locker, and as I crashed into a small girl that had been walking behind me. "Sorry," I mumbled, kneeling down and handing the girl the books that she had dropped. She had a mass of curly black hair and even blacker eyes—she was the typical girl from La Push.

"Don't worry about it," said the girl cheerfully, standing up and smiling warmly up at me. She was so small—and that was bad coming from me, who was of average height. "You're the new girl, right? Evie Wilkes?"

I couldn't help but smile at her, since she was one of the few people who had called me by the name that I actually wanted to go by, and replied, "Yeah, that's me. It's nice to meet you, uh…" I waited for her fill in the empty space, and it took her a couple of seconds to realize that I was waiting for her.

"Oh, sorry!" exclaimed the girl, her cheeks turning bright pink quickly. "I'm Nora, Nora Davis." She hesitated, before asking, with an excited tone in her voice, "Tell me, did you really almost get in a fight with Scarlett Moore? Everyone's been talking about how the new girl was one of the first people ever to stand up to Scarlett—if you did, I have to say, you're my idol."

I laughed, and leaned against my locker, fiddling with the strap on my bag. "Yeah, I guess I did. It wasn't much, though—someone stopped me before I could do anything stupid," I said quietly, and the smile faded from my face when I realized that I was thinking about him again—it would be very difficult to stop myself from thinking about that stupid boy.

It turned out that Nora was actually in my English class as well, which relieved me somewhat. It was better than nothing—at least I could talk to someone and ignore Paul that way, instead of sitting there in silence. Nora was actually a part of the school newspaper—or, really, according to her, the only person who was actually dedicated to the newspaper. She was telling me about a story she was working on about some mysterious creatures that were in the woods when Paul walked in. Much to my annoyance, my eyes went to straight to his; however, I was able to have some sort of self-control, and turned my attention back to Nora. I tried to ignore him, but it was difficult, especially when the bell rang and Nora was forced to go back to her seat.

Mr. Anderson wanted us to work on some sort of worksheet on the reading the night before—which I hadn't bothered doing, since I knew just about everything about Wuthering Heights. I worked in silence on it, and Paul was quite as well, until he finally said to me, "I'm sorry about last night—I didn't mean to run off like that. I just had something that I had to do." His voice was vague and distant, and, if it was any other day, I would have asked what was wrong, but not that day.

I simply shrugged my shoulders, trying to show him that I wasn't affected by it at all. I was an awful liar.

"Evie? Is everything alright?" he asked me, his voice filling with concern now.

"Listen, I know what you're trying to get at," I said, not tearing my eyes from my paper to see the expression on his face—I was too scared of what I would see. "I know that you aren't interested in me, and, I'm sorry if I was forward with you last night. It was stupid on my part, and you won't have to worry about it anymore." I dared to look at Paul, and saw a strange look on his face—it was a mixture of disbelief and confusion, and there was another emotion thrown in there, one that still could make my stomach twist into knots. Before he could say anything, Mr. Anderson started the discussion on the book, which lasted the rest of class. In case Paul tried to talk to me again, I rushed out of the classroom as soon the bell rang, and I didn't see him again.

That was the least of my worries.

My classes past by quickly after that—it seemed that the rest of the world was determined to get me to lunch as soon as possible. I wasn't exactly excited about it; I would probably have to sit in the cafeteria, which would, no doubt, be loud and full of obnoxious, stupid kids who were high on sugar or drugs or something else. The only problem I had in gym was that, during volleyball practice, I had been hit in the head with one of the volleyballs, which left a sore bump on my forehead. It was just that kind of day.

When I walked into the cafeteria, I was contemplating which empty table I would take when I heard someone yelling out my name in a familiar excited voice. "Evie! Come sit with us over here!" called out Nora, her curls bouncing nervously as I approached them. I could feel another pair of eyes on me, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know who it was. I sat at Nora's table, which had several other kids there. They were all very nice, with the exception of one girl, who sat at the corner, reading and avoiding most social contact. I didn't think too much of it—I was about as anti-social that day as she probably was. "So, how do you like it here so far?" asked Nora, ready to start drilling me with questions.

"It's alright," I shrugged, swirling my bottle of juice shyly. I wasn't used to all of this attention on me, and I wasn't sure if I was interested in it. "Hey, Nora, what do you know about those guys over there?" I motioned over to the table that Paul was sitting at—he was still staring at me, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on edge. All of his friends looked very similar to him—big, muscled boys with dark hair and dark eyes. He was the only one with light eyes, though.

Nora followed my gesture, and frowned when she saw who I was talking about. "I would avoid them, if I were you," said Nora quietly, leaning her head towards mine. "They're all in some kind of gang, led by one of the guys that already graduated from here, Sam Uley. I used to be really good friends with Jacob Black, one of them, until he went off and joined them. I never talk to him anymore—it's like he's a completely different person, and he's just avoiding me whenever he gets the chance to. It's just really, really weird." I watched Paul, who had briefly turned back to talk to the guy sitting next to him, who just happened to be the one I had bumped into on my first day here. "You know that guy you sit next to English? Well, he's one of them—and I guess he's got this awful temper, and he almost flipped out on someone a couple of months ago. I don't know the whole story, but they're all freaks. I'd stay away from them if I were you." She paused, before asking, "Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing," I said quickly, probably too quickly. She watched me with an intent expression on her face, and then slowly turned back to her friends, laughing at something they had said. I kept my head down the rest of the period—all I could think of what she had said, that Paul had an awful temper, and that I should keep my distance from the rest of them. It seemed that would be far more difficult than she had made it out to be.

Just before the bell rang, I excused myself silently from their table and stood out of the cafeteria, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes. My head was pounding, and I could feel a strong headache coming from that damn bump. I closed my eyes, and was about to go to the nurse and ask if I could go home—what was the point of staying if all I was missing was art—when someone gently pressed their hand to my forehead, feeling the bump. I didn't have to guess twice to figure out who it was—their body heat was a complete giveaway.

"Are you alright?" asked Paul, his face frighteningly close to mine. It seemed that all he did was ask me that all the time.

I felt the breath escape from my lips, and I watched him with wide eyes as I nodded slowly. His hand moved from my forehead to my cheek, cupping that side of my face. "What are you doing to me?" I breathed, feeling as though I could possibly faint at any moment. He was ignoring me, though, and began to lean down to me. Instead of kissing me, he simply rested his forehead against mine, and sighed softly. His hot breath made chills run up my spine.

"How could you be stupid enough to think that I was not attracted to you?" he asked me slowly, his eyes still closed. I wished that he would have opened them, so I could see the beautiful shade of blue that no one else seemed to have in their eyes. "I'm afraid that I feel quite the opposite for you—you drive me completely, utterly insane."

I bit my bottom lip, feeling jumpy and shaky from his words and his closeness to me. His hands were pressed up against the wall, trapping me; I don't think he needed his hands there. There was no way I could run away from someone like him. Everything that Nora had told me was erased from my mind—I didn't care if he was dangerous, or if I was crazy for being so fascinated by him. There was this bond between us that I could not understand, and I never could be away from him. It hurt too much to be away from him for five seconds. "I'm afraid that feeling is mutual," I finally whispered, my lips just slightly brushing against his as they formed each word. My body heated with touch from him, and I was sure that I was going to melt beneath him.

"I'll meet you by your car after school—I think we need to talk," he said quietly, reluctantly pulling away from me. It was if someone had thrown a heavy blanket onto me—being away from him made me feel more so different, so…unpleasant. I nodded up to him, and sighed softly. He pressed his lips to my forehead, and I swore that his mouth had burned me. Before I could even say good-bye to him, the bell rang, and he had disappeared, just like the day before. And I was left feeling confused and empty—it was almost too much for me to handle.

My last class period lasted for hours, it seemed, as I waited impatiently for the day to finally ended. I could feel my foot tapping anxiously as the clock slowly moved forward—I knew that I was being insane, that I was just setting myself up for disaster, but I didn't care. That high, that intoxication I had felt when I was with him, when he was so close to me—I needed to feel that again. When the last bell rang, I bolted out to my car, my hands trembling as I approached. When I first went to my car and saw that no one was near it, I frowned and was scolding myself for being so stupid to trust him. That all cleared up, though, when a pair of hands covered my eyes and a pair of lips gently pressed to my ear, whispering huskily, "Guess who?"

I laughed at him, and said mockingly, "Hmm, I hope that it's anyone besides that jerk Paul—I don't want to be anywhere near him." As I turned, a teasing grin was pulling at my lips, but it began to fade when I saw that look in his eyes—the one that I had seen several times now. It was as if he had been dying of thirst for years, and I was his last chance of having that last drop of water. It made goosebumps form on my arms, and I rubbed them absentmindedly. "Where do you want to go?" I asked him quietly. "Do you have a car? Do you want to take mine—"

Just when I was about to start rambling, Paul gently placed his hand on my lips, stopping me from going on and on like an idiot. I smiled beneath his hand, and he smirked down at me, knowing very well that I had been smiling. "I got a friend to drive me today, so why don't we take your car? But, I'll drive," he finished, and I hesitated, not wanting to give the keys to him just yet. What if he crashed it, or something happened to it? My mom would surely kill me. "I'll be careful, I promise." He leaned his face closer to mine, making my heart tighten. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I said almost instantly, and I shook my head internally. I was so absolutely pathetic with him, it wasn't even funny. There was something quite odd about this entire day—it was just a complete roller coaster. "Where are we going?" I asked him as I slid into the passenger seat.

He hesitated himself, and stopped trying to adjust the driver's seat to fit his large body into the car. "A friend of mine's house," said Paul after a couple of seconds. "We'll talk more about it when we get driving. Is that alright with you?" He seemed distant for a couple of minutes, obviously thinking of something that was on his mind.

"What wrong, Paul?" I asked him, biting my bottom lip nervously once more.

He shook his head to himself, and gave me a reluctant smile. Obviously something was plagueing him, but he was refusing to tell me. I frowned up at him, and he pressed his hand against my cheek, placing his spell over me once more. "I'm fine, really." He leaned away once more, and we began driving to wherever it was we were going.

**Alright, that should be a good spot to stop. I don't want to give away everything in this chapter, you know? Well, I have to say, this was my favorite chapter to write, and I hope you guys really liked it. Keep reviewing, and I'll get to work on the next chapter soon.**


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